San Diego Comic Convention
Summer 2003
We’re at the San Diego Comic-Con at the convention center downtown. The Comic-Con is the largest convention of its kind on the planet. We make an annual pilgrimage here to make fun of the hardcore geeks while at the same time appeasing our own inner geeks by perusing the comics and paraphernalia and attending discussions given by our favorite industry and Hollywood insiders.
My son Ian and his friend have wandered off and are somewhere lost in anime and video game heaven. I’m introducing Ursula to “Artist’s Row,” where both renowned and obscure comic book artists create quick sketches for awestruck fans and open their portfolios for public exhibition.
As we make our way from table to table and the exceptionally lowbrow to inked masterpieces, I notice that all of the exhibitor artistes are Goths, nerds, dropouts and other societal misfits. I share this observation with Ursula, adding that the overall environment is the exact opposite of the corporate trade show crowds of ties and marketing smiles that I experienced in the past while working for QUALCOMM. Ursula agrees, making a motion with her head toward a goth mother suckling her newborn and adding “Yeah, and you never see people breastfeeding at a corporate trade show.”
“AND WHAT’S WRONG WITH BREASTFEEDING?” An agitated, nasally female voice intones behind us. We turn and confront the voice. She looks really familiar. “BREASTFEEDING,” the voice adds sneeringly, “is the ultimate expression of a mother’s love for her children!”
The big glasses. The long, stringy black hair. The face puckered in perpetual distaste. I’m now able to put the face together with the voice. It’s Joyce Brabner of American Splendor. I’ve read an anthology of this seminal underground comic, which is based on the real-life exploits of Joyce Brabner and her husband Harvey Pekar. Harvey is also the creator and writer of the comic and I am somewhat of a fan. Further, the film based on the comic has just been awarded the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival.
And where there’s Joyce, there’s surely…Harvey. He’s peering over Joyce’s shoulder as she reprimands Ursula. He’s had a bad bout with cancer, chronicled in Splendor’s “Our Cancer Year” graphic novel. He looks haggard and bemused. Seemingly disoriented and oblivious, yet at the same time acutely aware of everything that’s happening around him.
“Harvey and Joyce! It’s great to meet you. I’m a fan.” I step forward and shake Joyce’s hand. She’s confused at this gesture but obliges. Harvey peeks out further around Joyce and I shake his hand too. “How did it go at Cannes? I know the movie’s being released here in a couple of months. I can’t wait to see it.”
Harvey perks up slightly, clearing his throat and answering in a gravelly voice, “Yeah, we won the Palme d’Or there. We think the movie came out great. They did a good job. We’re lookin’ forward to seein’ what happens.”
In the meantime, Ursula, never having read Splendor and therefore not realizing the connection that’s just been made, has turned away and is moving off in a huff with an audible “Sheesh!” directed at Joyce. I watch after her and turn back to Joyce, offering, “Please pardon my wife. She didn’t mean to say that breastfeeding was a bad thing. We were just discussing how different this convention is in comparison with the usual lame corporate conventions.”
Whether Joyce accepts this or not is unknown. Her perpetual sneer does not belie any difference in her feelings, whether good or bad. “Well, great meeting you two. Good luck with the movie!” I smile and walk away, catching up with Ursula a couple of aisles over.
“Who the hell does she think she is? NOBODY whips their bare boob out at a trade show. God, how stupid!”
“Honey, you’re not going to believe this, THAT was Joyce Brabner and Harvey Pekar!”
“And he kept staring at MY chest! Straight at my chest! It was SO obvious!”
“Honey, that’s Joyce Brabner and Harvey Pekar from American Splendor! It’s a semi-famous comic. They just made a movie of it with Paul Giamatti. They just won the top prize at Cannes! He’s been on Letterman like 10 times…and written about it! That’s what they do, write comics about actual experiences that they have.”
“Whatever. Just as long as they don’t write about this one. Breastfeeding. Sheesh!”
I wonder if they have?
Later, I discuss the irony of the situation further with Ursula, telling her that I’m going to make my own American Splendor-style rant about our real-life experience with Joyce and Harvey.
This is it.
